The Fate We Share
by Ephemeral Cry Wolf
Summary: Alfred is tired of being America. He's tired of being the butt of the joke and he just wants someone to be there for him. Maybe he's just never paid attention to the only person that knows exactly what he's going through. RusAme [Read cautiously if you have Depression]


**I do not own Hetalia.**

 **Please do not take anything in this story too seriously.**

 _Hi,_

 _I'm Alfred F. Jones_

 _The stupid American_

 _The fat ass_

 _The ugly one_

 _The slutty bitch_

Alfred stared at himself in his foggy mirror; hating the way blue eyes studied his imperfections. Water dripped from his hair and collided with the sink below until he ran his fingers through his soaking hair and pushed it out of his face. He frowned as his fingers traced the dark bags under his eyes. His other hand went to his pudgy stomach and he let out a small curse. Always the imperfections…

Here was another he could add to his list:

 _The fake bastard_

America stood outside the conference doors making sure he was all put together; he made sure his suit was in place and his suitcase at his side was filled with hamburgers and fries and in his other hand was a chocolate flavored milkshake from his _favorite_ place, Mickey D's.

Before he pushed the door open he put on his best grin and hoped that no one noticed how artificial he felt; God how he hated world meetings.

"Hey you guys!" He burst through the doors dramatically, "The hero is here."

"Can't you ever do anything right you bloody git, the meeting started fifteen minutes ago," England nagged at him, but America just brushed it off and walked over to his seat. Bloody git? Could he add that to his list or did that classify under stupid American?

"The hero always shows up in the end and that's all that counts," he had already started working on stuffing his face with his hamburgers. England just smacked his forehead and mumbled 'where did I go wrong?'.

"If you're done bickering now, I would like to get back to the meeting," Germany gave them both a stern look, "It's your turn to speak America."

"Okay dudes," he stood and walked to the podium, "I came up with this super awesome plan to solve global warming, I-

Before he could even get a word of his plan out the other nations were already arguing about how stupid his plan was. America stuttered, he may come up with some irrational ideas sometimes, but his plans always pulled through; he just wanted someone to give him a chance. Their words were hurting him and he was trying his best to maintain his smile, it was his security, as long as he smiled no one would ever suspect him of having any real self-awareness.

"Why do we even let him speak?"

"Stop it, he's trying, even if it hurts his tiny brain."

"If he exercised his brain more than his gut I bet he could actually come up with something intelligent."

"All that grease is killing his brain cells."

As America looked around the room and each person in it, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and it was becoming ever harder to force a smile. They were all talking and laughing about him like he wasn't even there; he looked around again and noticed a pair of violet eyes staring at him. Russia was waiting, a small childlike smile on his face as if encouraging him to speak. America finally faltered, and his smile fell; the stupid commie was just waiting for him to speak so he could laugh at whatever stupid thing he had to say, just like all the others.

America stepped away from the podium without another word and walked back to his seat feeling defeated; his hamburgers weren't looking all too appetizing right now and neither was his milkshake; he placed them away.

"Oh thank GOD he's stopped talking."

"Don't worry America-san I support your idea."

America flinched a little, yeah that would have been great if he'd actually said something; he knew he wasn't very well liked but they were being a bit patronizing today, weren't they? They continued to talk and laugh and occasionally America would feel like he was being watched; he couldn't bring himself to look at any of them and placed his head in his hands, just great.

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as he shut and locked the hotel door behind him and pulled his favored bomber jacket off. He jumped and buried himself in the blankets atop the mattress; a soft 'mew' sounded in his ears. Looking up, he was shocked to see a fluffy ragamuffin staring back at him, just inches from his face. "Franklin! Did you hide in my bag again?" America-cat mewed again before nuzzling Alfred's face.

Alfred smiled before a knock sounded and Franklin disappeared under the bed; Alfred's smile faltered again as he sighed and he went to answer the door.

America stared in horror, a little agitated, but mostly horror, "What do you want France."

"Amérique, oh honhonhon, you know why big brother France is here; now let's talk economics." America pressed his lips in a firm line and stared somewhere hard behind France before opening the door wider, to France's satisfaction. America moved out of the way with his eyes downcast; he could never catch a break these days thanks to his boss. Why the man hated him so much was beyond him.

As the door closed, the Frenchman took the opportunity to grab America by the hand and led him to the bed, where most of the planning occurred and always left America in a grumpy mood the day after.

Of course, America felt like a trashy whore by the time France left, not that France was degrading or anything, but the remainder of his pride was quickly diminishing. Alfred wasn't sure how long he laid there; with his arm outstretched over his face the sheets wrapped haphazardly around his legs.

His nose scrunched up as his stomach made a jerking motion; oh he could really feel it now, the economy was taking a dangerous plunge again and he knew he was going to be sick.

With another jerk from his stomach, Alfred launched himself off the bed tripping over the sheets and scrambling into the bathroom. Gagging noises left his mouth as bile forced its way out; his hands squeezed the toilet seat as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and snot ran out of his nose. He coughed a little and stayed there until his stomach stopped heaving. Soft padding could be heard tapping on the floor.

'Mew?'

"Yes… I'm fine Franklin."

'Mew.'

"Yes, I know I need to stop helping the others, but you tell that to the boss man." Alfred sighed out of exasperation, but he was glad that it was his cat interrogating him, instead of Tony. He could deal with Franklin, but Tony was… let's not even go there.

Alfred waited for the cat to continue, but a hiss sounded instead.

He groaned as a knock sounded at his door, so Alfred lifted his head out the toilet and flushed without taking a look at what had left his mouth. Walking briskly through the mess he'd just made, he picked his boxers and pants up off the floor and threw them on. When he opened the door he mentally sighed at the person, but on the outside he smiled and threw an arm around their shoulders. "How's it goin' Artie?"

Arthur turned his nose up and looked off to the side while also pushing Alfred's arm off of him and brushing off imaginary dirt. "Put on a shirt you bloody wanker, I taught you how to be a proper gentleman." He went on a good minute about indecent exposure before turning to face Alfred. "Did you forget that we had an appointment this morning," his tone was a little stern, "I can see you haven't properly groomed yourself, so I will come back later after today's meeting… and please would it kill you to be on time for once."

Alfred's lips twitched as England closed the door behind him; he was tired of these "appointments". His boss was trying to strengthen international relations especially with the Europeans; he'd rather deal with Mexico, but sharing was starting to hurt his economy more than help. Had the others made a pact against him? He truly only had good relationships with Canada and Australia, but they were brothers, that didn't count.

He was tired of being America…

America sat silently in the meeting, this time his briefcase was full of paper instead of food, but instead of taking notes he was doodling. There wasn't any reason for him to listen to someone else's problems when they never listened to his. To be honest he only came to make his boss happy.

He was extremely uncomfortable though. He could always feel a pair of eyes staring at him from across the table. He hoped those eyes didn't belong to a certain violet eyed nation; Alfred didn't have the time to deal with him today.

He had drawn a complex looking UFO attacking the conference room when a note slid over his doodle. _'Are you okay?'_

Alfred turned to his left and flashed Canada a beaming smile, "I'm always fine bro." Canada didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. He could always count on his brother to check on him.

When it was his turn to speak, the same exact thing happened from the previous day. He hadn't even eaten in there today and they were still calling him a fat cow. He hadn't interrupted the meeting once, and they were calling him loud, stupid, and obnoxious. He hadn't spoken a word.

America looked down at the papers he held on the podium. He just wanted them to shut up, their voices were grating on his nerves.

The smile dropped from his face and he pointedly stared at them while he held up the stack of paper and ripped it cleanly in half. "Just shut the hell up!" The room went silent and no one said anything… until someone shouted, "What a whiny bitch!" _What?_ They were aware that _he_ was their superpower, right?

England stood up and looked at him with that smile he always gave him when he was about to lie through his teeth. "Lad, we just know that a giant robot wouldn't help our problems."

Blue eyes narrowed on that sharp face and right into those green eyes. "I didn't say anything about a robot. In fact, if you'd all just be quiet and listen then you'd know I haven't said a single word." The blue in his eyes darkened when England opened his mouth to speak; America effectively cut him off, "Perhaps you don't understand when I speak English so let me put it in American for you… Shut da fuq up!"

England slowly slid back in his seat like a deflated balloon, France gently patting him on the shoulder. Was that too harsh? No, he decided it wasn't. They've been patronizing him ever since he'd risen to power.

Germany quickly took England's place, standing and pointing his finger while North Italy begged him not to do it. "You wait just a minute!"

"No, you wait just a minute," America pointed at him, "don't you want to know what I just ripped up?" The room dropped into another uncomfortable silence as everyone stiffened and waited for America to continue.

This was great, he had them hanging off the tip of his tongue. He smiled so hard that he was sure he looked deranged when he shouted, "Your contracts! Isn't that great, I'm not your whore anymore!" America threw the ripped stacks up in the air, where they scattered.

"You can't do that," France muttered.

"I just did!" America took one last sweeping glance over the room before walking out of the room with a bounce in his step and slamming the doors behind him.

Hetalia

Alfred lay face down in his bed when his cat 'mewed' at him from the floor. The smell of hamburgers reached his nose, but that was Franklin's food not his. He felt completely drained of all his energy; he couldn't believe he'd just snapped on them like that.

"I know Frankie; the boss man is going to kill me. But ya know, maybe it's time for me, myself, and America, right? No more intervention," he talked mindlessly to his cat. Deep down he knew he couldn't run away; he wasn't a runner, and he'd never give up being a superpower.

Alfred groaned when there was a knock at his door. It was probably one of the other nations coming to declare war on America. He got up slowly like every bone in his body was stiff; America-cat hid under the bed and the sound of ceramic scraping against the floor followed as the cat dragged his plate with him.

Alfred opened the door and looked down expecting to meet the face of an angry green eyed Brit, but it wasn't. He was staring at a chest and he had to awkwardly look up to meet a smiling violet eyed Russian.

"Wha-" Alfred took a step back; he was confused. He never had any business with Russia so this was unexpected. "What do you want," he glared, "Did you come here to tell me that two-thirds of my country is overweight and that makes me a fat cow."

Russia stared down at him for a moment before chuckling, "China said you've got balls." The Russian pushed Alfred back in his own room, letting himself in and shutting the door. "I'm proud of you."

"Proud? …I just told the world that I'm not it's whore and you're proud?" Alfred looked at him suspiciously.

Russia chuckled a little, "We're one and the same, you and I." He stepped a little closer and Alfred took a step back, but Alfred was getting irritated.

"One and the- You of all people don't know anything about me!" He was glaring openly while trying not to trip, "We are nothing alike."

Russia smiled innocently and took another step, "You really are annoying. I can't help but find you annoying, but _I_ like it."

This time Alfred found the back of his knees hitting the frame of the bed. "You aren't making any sense. If I'm so annoying, then why are you here." Russia didn't answer his question, but he took several more steps until Alfred found his back pressed against the bed sheets and Russia between his legs.

"I want to show you that we're the same."

"W-What? No, you came here to fuck me into submission, didn't you…"

Violet orbs glared down at him, "Russia does not want sex with you, there would be nothing to gain from your economy. I said you're annoying." Alfred felt a shiver go down his spine, what game was this bastard playing at? "I hate you…"

Alfred felt a spasm in his chest at those words. They weren't new. Everyone hated him, he knew they did; they always found a reason to hate something about him. He could barely call himself a superpower. Everyone wanted his help, but no one wanted him in their business. They expected him to do everything perfectly, be on their side… but he was just one nation, and they didn't listen to a damn thing he ever had to say.

He felt Russia pushing his arms down on either side of his head. "I hate you because you always pick their side. You always hide behind a façade. You brush off every word they say to you, and out of all of them you choose me to throw your anger at… the one that knows exactly how you feel! If it had been me that snapped in front of that podium today, half of the world would be at my doorstep with sanctions, but they want to apologize to you."

"So yes America," Russia's face got a little closer to his, and Alfred was trying very hard to keep his breathing under control. "I am proud of you for finally sticking up for yourself." And then he pulled away leaving Alfred feeling confused on the inside. "I _hate_ you because you'll never let me _love_ you…"

He never really thought about it, not like that. He never really thought about how Russia suffered because he was too busy trying to be the hero. It wasn't until he heard footsteps walking away from him that he recalled the last sentence Russia said to him. "Wait!" Alfred threw up a hand after the receding Russian; he stopped. Russia turned back to look at him. "I… I'm sorry," was all Alfred whispered.

But it didn't matter how little he said because he suddenly found Russia's form towering over him as he sat at the edge of the bed. His head awkwardly trying to look up and meet the gaze of someone he never tried to understand. But it hadn't always been like that; they used to be friends, they had been best friends, and so close to becoming a-

"I don't hate you," Alfred whispered. America found it a little hard to breathe being so close. He never thought that maybe Russia was just as scared as him; that instead of hiding, Russia attacked in plain sight; threatened because of his lost power.

It had been easier to think of him when he had just been Ivan, his friend, not Russia, not his enemy.

America found himself pushed on his back again, but this time there wasn't any words to speak. There was just a short pause as they stared each other down before everything came crashing together; their lips were locked in an intimate kiss. But they weren't human, it wasn't the same.

Every emotion they felt made their way through that simple contact.

Russia's anger, frustration, sadness; America's hesitation, turmoil, paranoia. And if they dug down deeper they could feel the despair, the happiness, the lethargy, the nostalgia, the hope, the passion. They were one and the same.

Alfred pulled away first. He had never been kissed before, never. So many times he'd been in someone else's bed but he had never been kissed before; it felt so intimate to be sharing all his feelings at once. He couldn't help it, his hand touched his lips in wonder. Blue eyes slowly traveled up the expanse of a gray suit, a neck covered by a pink scarf, Russia's soft face, cherub cheeks and ashen locks, and lastly those light violet eyes. There was something in those eyes that Alfred couldn't quite understand.

"Ru-" Alfred was cut off by a gloved finger at his lips.

"It's Ivan." There were so many implications to that one sentence that it left Alfred feeling even more confused. He didn't know what to do. Using a nation's name was informal, friendly, intimate. What did Ivan want from him? Before he even had the chance to question the Russian, he was gone. Leaving Alfred with the taste of something bittersweet.

Alfred's hand went back to his lips, feeling strangely light and a little happy.

'Mew'

Alfred's head snapped behind him as his hand raced to his rapidly beating heart. "Jesus Frankie… and what do you mean I'm love struck. It's Russia."

But deep down Alfred knew that didn't matter, and it left something to be desired.

Hetalia

What was he thinking, approaching America, kissing him; his boss would kill him if he ever found out. Ivan had to remember that he is Russia, and Alfred is America; the two of them could never… not now, not anymore.

Three quiet knocks brought his violet eyes to the door. His arm moved through the darkness until his hand flicked on the lamp. The clock on the nightstand read 12:34 A.M. Who could that be at this hour?

He got up slowly, making sure his pink scarf covered his neck as he padded towards the door. Ivan blew a breath before opening the door and coming face to face with the one person he was hoping to avoid.

America's fingers were fidgeting and he kept his eyes lowered. He laughed nervously, "Just an American here… I should go." Alfred turned around to bolt, but Ivan brought a firm hand down on his shoulder, knowing that he was once again crossing into dangerous territory. So with a slow even breath, Ivan cautiously removed his hand and took several steps back to give Alfred room.

He felt naked suddenly as Alfred turned back around; perhaps he should have put on a shirt before answering the door. "You wanted to talk?" Ivan shifted nervously and looked down at his feet. Several minutes passed in the quiet and Ivan was beginning to think that America had left anyway.

But America was still there, "My god, you're like a giant purr machine." Ivan looked up in question to find Alfred holding his cat, a mass of dark brown fur rubbing against his face and was indeed purring.

"Kolya likes to be held," Ivan smiled.

'Da'

Alfred's eyes widened, stared down at the cat and then looked at Ivan in bewilderment. "Dude, did your cat just talk?"

'Da'

"Dude!" Alfred placed Kolya back on the floor, "Russia, talking cats? Really?"

Ivan was tempted to laugh, but he settled on just smiling; he couldn't quite remember why he had been brooding earlier. This feeling, it felt quite nice like a warmth had settled in his chest. "That is how he meows… and its Ivan, not Russia."

"Uh," Alfred hesitated and looked around in the brightly lit hallway before walking in the dim room and closing the door behind him, "That's actually why I'm here."

All the while he took deep breaths while making his way to the bed. "I want to be Alfred with you." The American laid down on Ivan's bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I can't give myself to you, but I want to be here with you."

A sigh of relief left Ivan's lips, he'd been preparing himself for a rejection. What he got was even better. "Alfred," the Ivan's words came out tenderly, "there's things more intimate than sex." The Russian made his way over to the American nation. Compared to himself, sometimes he forgot that Alfred was so young and not as seasoned.

Ivan did know about American culture, if it could be said the boy truly had one, and he knew that Alfred was a romantic at heart. "Let me show you that the world isn't so bad," Ivan whispered as he sat beside Alfred, placing his fingers gently on the blonde's cheeks.

"Take me to space like we used to," Alfred said while nuzzling Ivan's hands. Violet eyes sparkled a little remembering how exhilarating going to space had been. It was thanks to Alfred that the Russian had left the earth in favor of the stars. He was thankful that Alfred didn't give up on him when he'd collapsed as the Soviet Union.

No matter what the circumstances were between their two nations, they always gravitated back to each other. Right then and there, Ivan surrendered his fears and kissed the American nation with a gentle passion. Their thoughts becoming beautifully entangled until they couldn't tell whose memories they were seeing.


End file.
